Almost persuaded

A way that leads to life
On a summer evening in our town, Carnival came to Main Street. Biker convoys parked their gleaming Harleys outside the Internet café and flocks of teens from the suburbs rivaled the Harleys with their personal adornments of metal trimmings, tattooed limbs and orange and purple–streaked hair. To us locals all this hubbub was normal; we see it every year at Carnival time. That’s why, when my husband and I caught sight of two pretty but plain young women walking past the motorcycles in white bonnets, pastel blue dresses and black stockings, our heads turned. They seemed to us a vision out of The Pilgrim’s Progress. Then our ears caught the sound of hymn singing coming from the front steps of the city hall. Under its faux-medieval turrets, 35 Mennonites were singing the praises of our Savior in shape-notes of grace:
My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,

 

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